


Homework

by applejuice_motherfucker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejuice_motherfucker/pseuds/applejuice_motherfucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don't be such a nervous bitch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homework

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy little humanstuck highschool first time drabble, because why not. I love the headcannon that human!Karkat is Mexican so he speaks a tiny bit of Spanish.

“What about, y'know...”

 

“What about what?” Your eyes flit from your computer screen to the boy standing at your movie shelf, one hand on the glass of the window, the other running a finger down the spine of 'Con Air'. _'God damn_ ,' you think, _'that boy's got impeccable taste.'_ It's five o'clock, or there abouts, and your dad isn't due back until nine. Need to make these few hours count.

 

“What if your dad comes back?” Dave asks, ever the nervous bitch he is. You hold back a knowing smile.

 

“Don't be such a nervous bitch,” you say, as he takes a healthy swig of your dads best scotch. He's not going to miss it, he has three other, better, bottles of the stuff. He huffs and sits on your bed, settling himself in, his thumb brushing over his phone screen absently, bottle of Famous Grouse in his other hand. “He won't be back for hours.” He only nods mildly in acknowledgement.

 

Your hands are steady, though your lungs shake. Leaving the chat log, you turn away. Kanaya can wait, you figure. Your shitty second hand desk chair squeaks as you twist in it, swivelling to face your bed. He glances up at you, still trying to act cool even though he knows you're not going to judge him, his hoodie flung across the footboard like he didn't give a shit when you know he did. He holds the bottle out and you accept it, taking a short, sharp swig and Jesus fuck, you hate this stuff. But it leaves a nice, sparkling burn in your gut that allows you to stand and move towards him, so you can't hate on it too much.

 

He watches every single movement you make as you cross the small room. You see it reflected in his shades and in his fingers; they twitch with every inch you gain towards him, curling ever inward to the stupid Pupa Pan bedding you wish you'd changed.

 

“I heard that retarded friend of yours got detention again,” he mumbles, speaking of Sollux, using him as an escape from whatever this is, whatever it is you're both forcing from each other. You really don't know what this is. You take one more small drink and set the bottle down at the foot of your bed before kneeling on it. You don't say a word.

 

For some reason, that encourages him.

 

His fingertips brush the point of your knee before moving to slowly spread across your leg. His nails scratch across the ridges of your jeans, the heat of his hand spreading through to your skin beneath. You reach a hand out to tug gently on his sleeve at his shoulder, and he sits back, spine straightening out to remove his shirt without a moment of hesitation.

 

He's so eager to please, you think. Must be that psycho, high-expecting brother of his. In one slight motion, so smooth you can barely comprehend it, you're on top of him, your hands grasping his bare shoulders, your thighs cradling his hips.

 

You kiss, his lips pulsing against yours with more confidence than you could ever fake. His hands are light across your back, only really digging fingers in to your skin when you sigh against him. You're tense, your back a rigid line parallel to him, but he moves against you even so, hands warm and exploring and welcoming. You relax eventually, sinking down into him, letting your hair curl and tangle with his, your hands gripping his shoulders softly.

 

This is the furthest you've ever been with anybody, and gog-damn it if it'd ever be with anybody apart from him. Dave Strider, coolest kid in school, the guy every guy wanted to be and every girl just wanted. You thought it was a joke when he started passing you notes in Spanish class, you thought that maybe he wanted tutoring or whatever.

 

Turns out he just wants you.

 

His hips creak up into yours, and you sigh another breath into his mouth that he swallows readily. Your hands fumble down clumsily, catching on his jeans and your own sweater, until you finally get your pants undone. Wriggling out of them is a relief, even more so when he unzips his own and you can finally feel yourself against him. Yes, your grey boxers and his orange (orange?) shorts are between you but you don't care.

 

He grinds up against you, breath catching in his throat, and you feel like you're choking. Your hips move faster, burning down into him with such a ridiculous speed you almost feel ashamed. But he's glad for it; he welcomes it happily. He gasps into your kiss and you can see his shades steaming up against you.

 

Your fingers curl tighter into his shoulders as his hands grasp you closer by your hips, pulling you down against him with every motion. A small whine escapes you, and he groans against your tongue, wrapping his own around it, sucking softly and holding you close.

 

You don't last long, neither of you do. When he slips one finger beneath the waistline of your underwear you cave, panting and writhing against him, your hands moving to clutch at his face, to pull and demand further kisses from him, sighing a silent cry into his mouth. He gives in when you breathe his name into him, and you can feel him, wet and hot underneath you, and you grind yourself down against it, just to spur him on that little bit longer.

 

“Jesus dick...” he whispers, still out of breath, arms wrapping around you, holding you down as if you would go anywhere. You smile a kiss to the corner of his mouth which he returns absently. Your eye catches his and you grin at each other.

 

“Yo siempre te querré,” you murmur, eyes heavy as they stare into his, confusing him for a moment, right before he catches on and tugs you that little bit closer.

 

Yeah, neither of you are moving for a good hour at least.

**Author's Note:**

> “Yo siempre te querré.” - "I'll always want you."


End file.
